


A More Covalent Bond

by 8sword



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, mechanic!Dean, sort of high school AU, teacher!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8sword/pseuds/8sword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cas is the science teacher roped into helping with the school play, and Dean's the older brother who gets roped into helping him. Carpentry, paint-smeared clothing, and painful awkwardness ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

            Kate wasn't sure when Dean gave her the spare key in June--"We don't want to invade your privacy," she'd said uncertainly--but Dean had said it was okay. "Not like I can't hear Adam from a mile away," he'd told her, and it was true. His half-brother always made the biggest racket when he arrived at the apartment, and today was no different: eager footsteps thumping down the hallway, keys jangled impatiently in the lock before the door was flung open, and then the thunks of Adam's sneakers hitting the wall as he kicked them off.

            "DEAN!" he hollered.

            "Over here, champ," Dean said from where he was under the kitchen sink, trying to figure out where the hell the puddle on the floor was coming from. "What's up?"

            Adam skidded into the kitchen. His big toes are sticking out of his socks, and Dean makes a mental note to add a pack of socks to his Walmart list; damn kid grows as fast as Sam ever did. He's not sure what he'll do if both of his brothers end up taller than him, but it won't be pretty, whatever it is.

            "I," Adam said, "am headed to Hollywood."

            Dean grinned. "Why, they decided to make another Wizard of Oz movie and they need Munchkins?"

            Adam kicked his foot. "Dude! No! We're having a Christmas play at school and today was auditions and _I_ got chosen to be the main character."

            Dean heaved himself out from under the sink. He was still smirking. "Who, baby Jesus? They gonna make you wear diapers?"

            "Deeeaan," Adam wailed in frustration, and the sound caught at Dean in all the wrong ways, made him see the spot on the living room wall where Sam's nerdy Schrödinger's Cat poster used to be tacked up, the Arwen magnet on the fridge Sam used to use to hang up his weekly To Do list. "Stop making fun of me. I'm gonna be the Grinch!"

            Dean blinked. That was the only indication of interest Adam needed; he launched off into an explanation of how the seventh graders were putting on a theatrical version of _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ , and Dean got busy pouring them some milk and breaking out the store-brand Oreos as he listened and expressed amazement and enthusiasm in all the right places. By the time Adam was done, all that was left of the sleeve of cookies were three cookies halves with the icing scraped off, and Dean's cell was buzzing on the counter.

            He glanced at the display. "Your turn to clean up, dude," he told Adam as he snapped it open, and Adam groaned as Dean said, "Hey, Kate."

            Her laugh came over the phone. "I was going to ask if Adam was there yet, but I can hear his dulcet whine."

            "Hey, Adam, your mom says you have a dulcet whine," Dean said. "Too bad The Grinch isn't a musical."

            Kate's voice perked up. "Did he try out? He wasn't sure if he was going to."

            "I'll let you talk to him." Dean passed the phone to Adam and went to his bedroom to change out of the work clothes he'd stayed in to fix the sink. He figured he'd hit the Roadhouse after he dropped Adam off at Kate's and hit the store; it had been a sucky day, and he could use a female touch to kick him out of the funk he'd been in all day. Most likely, that female touch would end up being a slap from Ellen, but at least there'd be some beer to go with it.

 

\- o -

 

            Monday morning, Dean gets a call as he's heading out the door for work.

            "Dean, I wouldn't ask, but--"

            "It's no problem, he can come over." Dean was familiar with Kate's schedule, how she tries to pick up shifts when she can. He felt worse that he couldn't help out more than he did, felt guilty every time he put away money for a plane ticket, or the laptop he was getting Sam for Christmas, when he saw Adam's peeled-away sneaker soles flopping around.

            "Actually, he's got his first rehearsal after school today, so...would you be able to pick him up instead?" Kate asked hesitantly.

            "Yeah, sure. Don't worry about it, Kate."

            Sometimes he didn't understand how he'd gotten pulled into this little family, and it feels like a betrayal of his own, of his mother and his brother whom Dad chose Kate and Adam over.

            But other times it felt like the only thing keeping him afloat, as his cell phone sat on the counter, still and silent.

 

\- o -

 

            Dean ended up running later than he thought--some asshole insisted Dean recheck his wheel bearings even though two other mechanics had already given them the all-clear--and when he pulled up in the Impala, the school parking lot was empty except for a late-model Civic, and Adam was sitting outside with a dude in khaki slacks and suit jacket who was clearly a teacher.

            "Sorry, sorry, sorry," Dean was already babbling as he swung out of the Impala, remembering teachers exchanging glances when Dad didn't show to pick them up from school, the ever-present threat of CPS. "I got held up at work, it won't happen again--"

            The teacher tilted his head. "It's all right," he said. His voice was raspy, as though he was just getting over a sore throat.

            Adam was grinning, hitching up the straps of his backpack. "Dean! Did you know there's wasps that lay their eggs in caterpillars and then the eggs hatch and the wasp larvae eat their way out of the caterpillar from inside?"

            Actually, Dean did know this. He had seen it on Discovery Channel. But he said, "No shit?" because Adam looked so excited about it. Then promptly paled as he remembered he'd just dropped the s-bomb in front of a teacher who probably already thought he was some sort of neglectful guardian. "Crap, sorry, I didn't mean to--"

            "This is my brother," Adam said loudly, drowning out Dean's apology. "Dean. Dean, this is Mr. Novak, he's awesome."

            Dean stuck out a hand, then winced when he saw the oil smears on it in the orange light from the streetlight. He pulled it back, rubbing it down his shirt, "Sorry--"

            "It's all right.  I often have indicator on my hand."

            Indicator?

            "Bromophenol blue," Mr. Novak said. "We use it to test pH."

            "Dude," Dean said, realizing. "You're a chemistry teacher?" That explained why Adam didn't seem bummed about having to sit around with a teacher to wait for Dean; the kid loved science the way Sam loved Nietzsche.

            "Yes."

            And he was in charge of the play? That seemed weird, but whatever. "Oh. Cool. Well, uh--sorry again for being late. Thanks for waiting with Adam."

            "It was no trouble," Mr. Novak said. He stooped slightly to pick up his briefcase. "I will see you tomorrow, Adam."

            "Did you wait long?" Dean asked as Adam buckled in and they pulled back out onto the road.

            Adam winced a little, looked at Dean. "Uh, not more than like...half an hour?"

            Dean groaned. "Your teacher's gonna think I'm a douche."

            "Nah," said Adam, grinning. "He's all about the scientific method. Right now, he's just _hypothesizing_ that you're a douche."

            Dean flicked him in the side of the head.

 


	2. Chapter 2

            John Winchester kicked the bucket just before Dean turned 18.

            The hospital official asked Bobby if he was going to notify the next of kin, and Bobby had half a mind to say no, you go on and do it, because he didn't want to do a damn thing for a goddamn bastard like John Winchester, never mind speaking ill of the dead.

            But he pictured that boy Dean picking up the phone and hearing some apologetic hospital official tell him his daddy was dead, and he couldn't do it. He held out his hand for the contact sheet they'd pulled from John's record and said gruffly, "I'll do it."

            Except Dean's name and numbers weren't the only ones on the sheet.

 

\- o -

 

            Kate calls to invite him for dinner. She made chili burgers to celebrate Adam's new role, and she knows they're Dean's favorite. She doesn't mention what they both know: that they're Adam's favorite because they're Dean's favorite. Sometimes Dean feels sick from how much that kid idolizes him. Wants to do something really bad in front of Adam to show him how wrong it is to want to be like Dean.

            Dean says no, goes to the Roadhouse instead, and Ellen, who takes one look at him and directs him behind the bar. "I sure as hell ain't letting your mopey ass drink any alcohol," she says, "so you might as well serve it instead."

           

\- o -

 

            Kate asks him to pick Adam up again after rehearsal Wednesday. Nah, he doesn't mind, no, really, Kate, it's no problem. When he hangs up, and goes back to the engine block Bobby's got him working on this morning, he's got an anxious feeling in his gut, like somehow he's bared his throat without realizing it. Sometimes he wonders if Kate knows how much he looks forward to seeing Adam, how much he needs it. He doesn't know whether to hope that she doesn't, or just be grateful that she's willing to share. That she keeps giving him chances even though he keeps fucking it up--the times Adam's come to his place and he's been passed out on the couch with cans strewn across the coffee table and the floor under it, the times he doesn't make the effort to join them for dinner.

            Sometimes he wonders if Sam knew this would happen, and he can't blame him for running away, from leaving what Dean was never brave enough to.

 

\- o -

 

            This time, determined not to be late, he ends up at Adam's school half an hour before his rehearsal is supposed to end. Which leaves him sitting awkwardly in the Impala like a creeper, carefully not looking at the ground of cheerleaders practicing their human pyramid in front of the cafeteria. Crap.

            He's saved by a sudden "Ouch! Watch where the fuck you're going!" floating through the open passenger window. He glances toward the main building where the auditorium is. There's a couple kids lugging a huge length of plywood out of one of the back doors, toward the patch of asphalt leading to the shop classroom. One of them drops her end of it as Dean watches, and the other one staggers under the weight of her end, face turning so red he can see it even this far away.

            Dean's out of the Impala in a second, jogging across the slushy asphalt and grabbing the abandoned end of plywood. "I've got it," he says, and only then realizes that he recognizes the red-faced girl. It's Adam's friend Ava. "I've got it, where do you want it?"

            "Any way you'll give it," says the other girl, the one who let go of her end. She's got her hands on her hips, is eyeing him up and down. Dean pretends not to hear, looking at Ava, who's exclaiming, "Dean!" and trying to look furtively over his shoulder.

            Dean grins at the transparent attempt. "Sorry, kid, Sam's in Cali."

            Ava's face falls. But she rallies quickly, tugging him in the direction of the shop class. "This way."

            There's a paint-spattered old tarp laid out there, what look like old textbooks anchoring down the edges. They ease the plywood down carefully on top of it, the other girl watching them, and only as Dean lets go of it and goes to brush his hands off on his jeans does he notice there's white stuff on his hands--paint. He looks down at the plywood and sees it's painted white and...green? He thinks that's supposed to be green. Hunter green, maybe, though shit green would probably describe it more accurately.

            "Uh," he begins, but Ava's flopping onto the ground, spread-eagled. "Oh my God," she pants. "I think that killed me. I am officially dead. Dean, you'll make sure Sam knows I loved him to my last breath, right?"

            Dean has to hide another smile. "I'll do you one better, I'll make sure he knows you're waiting for him in the afterlife."       

            Ava squeals in delight at this, and the other girl eyes them both, lifting an eyebrow.

            "Oh," says Ava, sitting up. There's grass stuck in her hair. "Sorry. Dean, this is Ruby. Ruby, Dean."

            Dean would stick out a hand, but he's a little uncomfortable after the probably-was-a-pick-up-line before, so what ends up coming out of his mouth is, "I'm 23."

            Ruby eyes him. She's got take-no-shit eyes, the kind he used to see on motel managers and social workers. It's probably about forty degrees out here, but she's just wearing some ripped black tights under a miniskirt, unlike Ava who's bundled up in about three jackets, and he's half wondering who decided to put her on lugging-heavy-things-into-the-cold duty because he remembers recesses spent shivering in too few or too-small layers.

            "So what're you doing here?" she says.

            "He's Adam's brother!" Ava cranes her head back to look up at Dean. "Did you come to see him? We haven't really started real rehearsal yet, Mr. Novak's trying to get the crew and scenery stuff put together first." She waves a hand at the plywood they just put down. "What do you think of our first backdrop?"

            Dean tries to think of a diplomatic answer.

            Ruby snorts. "Say it. It's a piece of crap."

            Ava's face falls. "No it's not, Ruby!"

            "Dude," says Ruby. "I bet he can't even tell what it's supposed to be. Can you?" she says to Dean, combative.

            "Uh," says Dean, and is saved by a whine of metal. They all look over to see the door Ava and Ruby had come out of swinging open. Mr. Novak steps out of it in a lab apron covered in yellow streaks, blinking rapidly and raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

            "Ruby, Ava, how is the painting coming--" he begins, then stops short, hand falling from over his eyes. "Oh. Hello."

            "Uh. Hi." Dean lifts his hand in a sheepish half-wave. Suddenly he wonders if he's supposed to be talking to the kids without a teacher around. There's probably rules about that. "Sorry, I was just..."

            "He helped us carry this piece of crap outside," Ruby says bluntly. "And I don't know if you've noticed, Mr. N., but it looks like shit."

            Novak regards the piece of wood, sighs. "Yes. It really does."

            "Maybe Mr. Turner could come back?" Ava says hopefully.

            Novak pinches the bridge of his nose. "I have approached him about that possibility. He was...not encouraging."

            Dean remembers Rufus Turner. He'd been the shop teacher when Dean had briefly gone to school here his senior year. He was a pissy old bastard who knew his way around a wood chipper--losing three fingers to it, apparently, will do that to you. "He not work here anymore?"

            "He does," says Novak. "But he recently suffered an...unfortunate mishap."

            "He slipped on Andy's skateboard," Ava informs Dean.

            "He is on leave for the rest of the semester," Novak says. "I was hoping that he would agree to help with creating the set anyways, but my hope has proven to be unfounded."

            Dean is about to do one of those things he always regrets doing later on. He shifts his feet, pressing his lips together to stop himself. But then Adam sticks his head out of the door, eyes landing on Dean.

            He grins and jumps down onto the lumpy asphalt. "Mr. N, Dean's awesome with wood! He built a doghouse for my dog."

            "No shit, Sherlock, it wasn't for your cat?" Ruby says sarcastically.

            "And a dollhouse for my Barbies," Ava says, ignoring Ruby. Then promptly turning pink and saying, "When I was little, I mean! I don't play with them anymore, duh."

            Novak looks at Dean. His brow is slightly furrowed, as though he does not understand how the present conversation pertains to him but is too polite to change the subject. "Carpentry is an admirable skill."

            "I could help," Dean hears himself say. "With the scenery, I mean. I'm no pro, but..." He can do better than a trapezoid with eyes, at least.

            Novak tilts his head. "Are you seeking employment?"

            "No, it's just--I mean, if you need help. I could--help." Shit. What is he doing? "With the backdrops. After school or something?"

            "That would be...acceptable," Novak says slowly. "Thank you."

            "OMG!" says Ava.

            "Awesome!" says Adam.

            "Meh," says Ruby.

            "What the fuck did you just do?" says Dean's sense of self-preservation.

\- o -

 

            _"You've reached Sam Winchester. I can't make it to the phone right now, but if you leave your number I'll get back to you."_

_"Hey, man. Just--just calling to tell you you better not be spending your Friday night at the library. 'Cause, you know, I will seriously kick your ass if you are. Anyway, just, uh. Have fun, Sammy."_

 

\- o -

 

            Helping out with a school play turns out to be a hell of a lot harder than Dean expected. He has to fill out forms from the school board, and go to the county sheriff's office to get fingerprinted, and give his boss and Ellen's phone numbers to the school principal so she can double-check to make sure he's not a pedophile coming to creep on the kids.

            He finds out about all these things through Mr. Novak, who forwards him an e-mail with a list of all the things he needs to do to be a school volunteer.

            But he only finds out that Novak sent him an e-mail in the first place when Adam comes thumping into his apartment, the Monday after Dean volunteered to help, and demands, "Why haven't you gotten back to Mr. Novak?"

            Dean blinks and sits up, turning the TV to mute. Adam huffs and goes to open the window blinds, letting the last of the six 'o clock sunlight fall across the couch. "Dean, I thought you were gonna help!"

            "I am, I am," Dean says, pushing the pillow off his stomach so he can reach into his pocket and check his phone. He's been checking every few hours since Wednesday for a message from Novak; did he miss it somehow? "Why, what'd he say?"

            "He asked me to make sure he'd gotten your e-mail right. I did, didn't it? b-a-b-y-6-7-@-gma--"

            Dean groans into his hand. "Adam, you gave him my e-mail address?"

            "Yeah, why not?" Adam says, now flopping into the old desk where Sam used to do homework and booting up the ancient desktop there. He lets out a cackle. "Dude, when was the last time you even turned this thing on?"

            "Exactly," says Dean, dumping Adam out of the chair and sitting there himself. He hasn't been on his e-mail account probably since the day he opened it, which was sometime last October when he and Sam went to the public library to open Sam an e-mail account for his college applications. They hadn't had their own computer yet back then, didn't manage to buy this old used desktop until Dean's (skimpy) Christmas bonus. But Sam had insisted on making an e-mail account for Dean, too, like Dean would ever use it. "Man, I'm not even sure I remember the password for this thing."

            Adam, who, from the sounds being made in the kitchen behind him, has found the jumbo bag of nachos Dean just bought, says something that sounds like, "Try Busty Asian Beauties" and bursts into laughter at his own joke. Dean rolls his eyes with a smile--ah, seventh grade humor--that dies as he thinks of what Sam would have to say about Dean, of all people, finding seventh grade humor immature.

            He grimaces at himself and types Sam's birthday into the password box. An hourglass icon comes up, then his inbox, informing him there are **93 new messages.** Novak's e-mail is right at the top, above a buttload of invitations from porn sites and Nigerian bankers.

            Dean clicks on it. His eyes widen when he sees the long bulleted list of requirements: showing proof of residence, getting fingerprinted at the school board office, submitting to a background check... Jesus Christ, is he applying for Quantico?

            Above the list there's a message.

            _Mr. Milligan, I had not realized that there are so many requirements that must be met to volunteer with the school. I will understand should you choose to change your mind and rescind your offer of assistance._

_Thank you,_

_C. Novak_

            Of course Novak would assume that Dean and Adam are full brothers, Dean doesn't blame him, but it gives him a twinge, anyway, to see himself called _Mr. Milligan_. It has him rethinking this already, thinking he should take up Nokak on his "rescind your offer of assistance," because what was he thinking, seriously, what was he thinking?

            "Hey, Dean!"

            "Yeah?"

            "If you had to eat one of them, what would you choose--snail, or slug?"

            Dean swivels around in the chair. Raises an eyebrow.

            Adam gives him a grin full of nachos and spray cheese. "And if you choose snail, you're not allowed to take the shell off it."

            Dean considers. "Is mustard allowed?"

            "Only for the slugs."

            "What kind of rule even is that?" Dean demands, and holds out his hand expectantly for some nachos as he looks back at the computer. He considers the attached forms as Adam places some in his hand, takes a breath, and presses Print.

            Then he turns, eyes narrowed as his Big Brother senses go off. He looks at the top nacho in his hand. It's glistening slightly. "You licked it."

            "Dean! I wouldn't!" Adam exclaims, but he's already launching himself back behind the counter, laughing. He's still laughing as Dean gets him in a headlock and gives him a noogie to end all noogies until eventually he has to stop because Adam's choking on the nachos he stuffed in his mouth while Dean was noogy-ing him, the pig.

            :How does your mom put up with you again?"

            "She sends me to you," Adam says, and jeez, it's like they script this stuff or something. Dean hides his expression behind the cabinet door he pulls open to look for a bowl for the nachos.

 

\- o -

 

            It's raining the afternoon Dean shows up in the main office clutching his sheaf of notarized papers from the school board. There's jazz music like Sammy used to listen to when he was studying playing on low, making the rain slapping against the wide windows seem like something relaxing instead of the freezing pain in the ass that it is. Dean shakes his head as he steps into the office, flinging the water from his hair, and stomps his boots on the mat just inside the door. Looks up with a grin, but the room is empty. His grin dims.

            "Uh," he says to the empty room. There's a desk behind the counter, but no one sitting at it. He raps on the counter with his knuckles. "Hello? I'm here to drop off some forms?"

            A woman sticks her head in through a door beside the coffee machine. "Dean Winchester," she says, and he blinks, because it's Missouri Moseley. The social worker who'd been in charge of his and Sam's case after Dad died,. " _What_ are you doin' here?"

            "Uh," Dean says again, 'cause wow, this is not what he expected, this is _not_ what he wanted, because even though it's not like he has a Sam to lose anymore, all of a sudden he's back in that time again, those careful piercing eyes that are judging every move he makes because they know what his dad did and they're not going to let him fight for custody of Sam because they know he'll end up just like him-- "I was--I just, uh--"

            The door behind him opens. "Ms. Moseleeeeey," comes a plaintive voice, then, "Dean!"

            He turns, sees Ava standing behind him in a bright yellow poncho, holding a stack of seriously ancient-looking textbooks. "Did you FINALLY get the paperwork done? Does that mean you're going to be at rehearsal today? Oh my God, this is gonna be so awesome, Ruby's being _such_ a bitch and Mr. Novak never says anything to her--"

            "You gonna leave that door wide open, Ava Wilson?" Missouri says, eyebrow raised.

            Ava goes, "Sor _ry_ ," and steps all the way inside, dropping the books onto the counter. "Can I take him to Mr. Novak's class, pleeeease, Ms. Moseley?"

            "You can go on _back_  to class, is what you can do," says Missouri, and signs something on the slip Ava pushes toward her with a sigh. When Ava's gone, with another heaved sigh and flounce to make her displeasure known to Missouri, the social worker/ secretary looks up at Dean.

            "So you're the poor pushover Mr. Novak got to help him with this play 'a theirs?"

            Dean clears his throat, tries to push the wet creases from the sheaf of forms as he sets them on the counter between them. "Yes, ma'am."

            "Well, that makes me real happy," Missouri says. "Here I was worrying it was one of the moms angling for a date."

            Dean's ears do _not_ turn red. They don't.

            Missouri just smiles. "Gimme those," she says, taking the papers from him. "I need your ID too, honey."

            Dean fumbles his license out of his wallet, keeping it hidden under the counter out of habit. He remembers other times, deliberately getting the money he took out of the ATM changed into one dollar bills so that there would be more bills in his wallet, make it look thicker than it was, like he had more money than he did, enough money to take care of Sam.

            "You, um--" His mouth is dry, he wets it. "This--?"

            "You wondering why I'm here 'stead 'a DCF?" Missouri says with that raised eyebrow again. She doesn't wait for Dean to answer, goes over to the scanner on the desk that he now sees has a name plaque on it saying, SECRETARY: MISSOURI MOSELEY. "Job like that wears a soul out, sugar. Saw too many bad things happen to too many kids."

            Dean studies the leather bracelet peeking out from under his jacket cuff, the drop of water that slides from it to the counter. He wipes it off, quickly. His wet sleeve leaves behind a faint track of moisture, and pulls some of his shirt sleeve from beneath his jacket to wipe that away, too.

            "How's that brother of yours doin'? Heard he got into Stanford."

            "Good," Dean says, and his mouth is dry again, his voice comes out too quiet. "He's doin' good."

            Missouri looks at him a moment. "That's good," she says finally, and hands him back his license. "You can head back to Mr. Novak's classroom now. I'll go ahead and let him know you're comin'."

            Dean's eyes flick to the forms sitting on her desk. "Wait, don't you have to--?" He was under the impression he'd need to meet with the vice principal once he'd turned in the forms.

            "Mr. Julian knows I don't let nobody in here as could hurt any'a our kids." She smiles a smile that's more scary than reassuring, the one that always scared him before, and clips a visitor's badge onto his jacket, right over the pocket where he's got his old flask. She pats it once, twice, eyes boring into his, and presses a button under the counter.

            "Mr. Novak?" she says, eyes not leaving Dean's. "Dean Winchester's here to see you. I'm sending him down now."

 

 


End file.
